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The thatched roof and stonework houses looked like how I imagined fantasy cottages. “Earl Young once said stones have their own personalities.”
“Is that the builder’s name?”
I nodded. “He was self-taught. While the town appreciated him from the start, it took a long time for his work to get wider recognition.”
Jillian looked at me with curiosity. “Huh. I don’t remember any of that.”
I hadn’t realized how much an inspiration the builder had been for me until I’d started fixing up houses. It was hard enough replacing tile and woodwork in homes built with right angles. These houses were odd-shaped and the furthest thing from cookie cutter.
We continued on past more of the fantasy houses dotting the neighborhood. The hills were no joke and took some wind out of my sails. I’d only been doing fairly short runs, so the challenge of biking hills reminded me I was no longer a kid hauling it at burst speed through town.
“You all right?” I called back after the latest climb.
Jillian arrived to where I’d stopped and put a foot down. “Just puffin’ a little.” She fanned her face. “Remember when we’d ride all day? I could never be gone so many hours at a time back home, but up here, as long as I ran around with you or the neighbor kids, it was like our folks didn’t pay attention to curfews.”
“I kind of forgot about those earlier trips. When we were in high school, I remember my folks wanted me to take extension classes and practice for the SATs.”
Realization crossed her face. “You made fun of me for bringing my SAT prep book up north.”
“Of course I did. But my parents loved it. They’ve always loved you.”
She looked like she wanted to say more but chose against it. My folks adored Jillian. She was everything they’d wanted for me, even before she’d become a collector of impressive degrees. When I’d ended things with Jillian, the second wave of guilt came from my own family. They thought I was an idiot for letting her go.
And I had been. Obviously.
“You okay?” she asked. “Or do you need a roadside nap?”
A nap sounded great. Out on the lake, in the back of my boat, with Jillian curled up beside me. “I’m good.”
Her face brightened again. “Good. Because I’m about to pop this granola bar for a carb boost and then I’m ready to go.” She unwrapped the granola bar. “Want the other one?”
I took it and wolfed it down.
Jillian looked happy. Flushed, energized, and content. “Ooh! You know where we should go? The library.”
Scratch that. Now she was truly energized. “Your second home.”
“It fits our theme to live out our old summer days. I loved going there. Which way is it?” She squinted into the distance. “I can’t believe I forgot.”
She was probably humoring me—as if she’d ever forget her favorite place aside from the lake. But I’d take it. “Follow me.”
We headed inside to the library where Jillian took me directly to the kids’ section to reminisce. She trailed her fingers along the worn shelves, pulling out books she remembered and newer ones she took interest in. Her face lit up when she discovered a familiar story. I couldn’t help smile at her enthusiasm.
“You read this, didn’t you?” She held up a post-apocalyptic looking book with the ruins of a city on the cover.
I scratched the back of my neck. “Maybe with a comic book hidden the pages.”
She gave me a light shove. “You read books. I witnessed it. Besides, comics count as reading too.”
I’d read more comic books than novels when we were kids, but she never made me feel less for it. Jillian loved reading so much she’d read anything. She checked out her own comics from the library along with a stack of books ranging from fiction to science texts.
We migrated to the non-fiction area where Jillian provided commentary on which popular books in the library’s display were glorified junk science.
“Ugh, and this guy.” She held up a hardcover and turned it so the back faced me. The author photo of a silver fox type wearing dark-framed glasses and an honest-to-goodness black turtleneck stared back. “He visited my grad school program for a series of lectures. He couldn’t help himself to a side of research assistant scandal. He was married and the research assistant wasn’t ready to become a mother, and yet.”
“Yikes.”
“It’s so predictable. I mean, why are men, right?” She looked at me in exasperation. “I’d say some aren’t raised right, but more than a few of these jokers are willfully terrible.”
